"It really is," Kit agreed solemnly, taking a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, and she made a soft sound of contentment that went straight to my hindbrain. "Oh wow. Charlie wasn't exaggerating."
She moaned like it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. I wanted to hear that sound again.
"Family recipe," I said, proud despite myself. "My mom taught me when I was about Charlie's age."
"Your mom sounds wonderful."
"She was." The words came out rougher than I intended. "She died before Charlie was born."
"I'm sorry," Kit said quietly, and there was real understanding in her voice. Loss recognized loss, apparently.
"It's okay," Charlie piped up around a mouthful of pancakes. "I didn’t get to meet Grandma, but Dad tells me stories about her, and he makes her pancakes. So it's like she's still here a little bit."
The matter-of-fact way Charlie dealt with loss never failed to humble me. Kids were resilient in ways adults couldn't be, accepting what they couldn't change and finding joy in what remained.
"That's a beautiful way to remember someone," Kit said softly.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of forks against plates and Charlie's occasional observations about the perfect chocolate chip to pancake ratio. Outside, I could hear the distant sound of kids riding bikes down the street, their laughter mixing with the rhythmic hammering from Reed's latest project over at the Carrington place.
But I found myself watching Kit, noting the way she savored each bite like she wasn't used to food that was made with care.
What kind of life had she been living before this?
"So what brings you to Hollow Haven?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. "If you don't mind me asking."
Kit's fork paused halfway to her mouth, and for a moment I thought she wasn't going to answer. When she did, her voice was carefully neutral.
"I needed a fresh start," she said. "Somewhere quiet, where I could figure out what I wanted to do next."
It wasn't really an answer, but I recognized the careful deflection. Whatever had driven her here, she wasn't ready to talk about it.
"Well, you definitely found quiet," I said. "This place practically rolls up the sidewalks at nine PM."
"Good," Kit said with feeling. "I've had enough excitement for a while."
Excitement. Another non-answer that told me everything and nothing.
"Are you gonna open a business?" Charlie asked around another bite of pancakes. "Micah says new people sometimes open businesses. Like art stores or bookshops or places that sell fancy soap."
Kit smiled. "I haven't decided yet. I’ll probably do some freelance work from home for a while."
"What kind of work?" I found myself asking.
"Design stuff. Marketing materials, mostly. Nothing too exciting."
The way she said it suggested it used to be exciting, or at least more fulfilling than she was making it sound now. More puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together yet.
My phone buzzed against the counter, and I glanced at it automatically. A text from Reed:Saw smoke from the Carringtons' chimney. Flue might be blocked. Mind if I swing by to check it out?
"Everything okay?" Kit asked, noticing my frown.
"Yeah, just work stuff," I said, typing back a quick go ahead. "Reed thinks there might be an issue with one of the houses I helped renovate. Nothing urgent."
"Reed's the one who came by yesterday?"
"Yeah. He's..." I searched for the right way to describe Reed. "He's good people. A little too charming for his own good, but reliable when it counts."
"And Micah seems lovely," Kit added.